


Light the Path

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, M/M, Pre-War, Sex Work, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: "So," Megatron said. "What do you say? Meet me here, this time next week. I'll buy you energon and teach you to read."





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> My goodness. I have too much to say about this fic, so I apologize in advance! But I've been working at it in some way or another since _2014_ if you can believe it. I still have a long way to go with it, but when rereading the beginning as I work in on it again for NaNoWriMo I figured I have maybe worked the beginning to death and that it deserves to be shared. :)
> 
> This is the au I keep referencing in my other Megatron/Drift things, ahaha. I hope it lives up to the fanfare I've maybe given it - it's close to my heart, so I hope you will enjoy it too.
> 
> Tags and such will update as I go along. Thank yous at the end, so I don't clog up the beginning. :)
> 
> Also, a long, long time ago, goodnyte bought a commission to sponsor around 1500-2000 words of this fic which were included in this chapter. Thank you!!! ;o;

Normally the atmosphere of this cafe remained quiet and undisturbed. Situated mid-level and in a comfortable spot far enough from the nearby spaceports and markets to prevent crowding, but close enough to still attract new foot traffic, the pace of business remained steady. Megatron preferred it for that reason — here it was much easier to read and write than in the barracks with the other miners. Impactor always rolled his optics and muttered when Megatron declined going up to Maccadam's, but — well. He went often enough to be social, yes? That's what he told himself, anyway. And Impactor didn't complain too much, so long as he did go along on drinking excursions once in a while.

Today was taking a different turn, however. When Megatron had settled into his favored booth, it had been the same: soft, gentle music on the speakers, only a few other mechs loitering about, and the barista happy to make his regular order and deliver it to him with a smile.  

But then someone unfamiliar entered the cafe. Normally once he was absorbed in his activities, Megatron took little notice of the comings and goings of the patrons, let alone whether or not he recognized them. But the ensuing commotion proved difficult to ignore. Megatron lifted his helm, his stylus paused mid-word as he gazed over at the front counter.  

The establishment's owner was shaking his finger at a rather — disheveled looking mech. Megatron missed what had been said, but he got the gist from his tone, and the curious mixture of body language on the stranger: plating flared in anger, shoulders slumped in defeat. And looking closer, his initial judgement of "disheveled" was a gross understatement. He was sure the mech's plating was supposed to be white, but a poor and inattentive wash left it looking dingy. Some sort of grime still clung in places that would clearly be hard for him to reach, and Megatron was sure that plenty of rust lurked underneath his plating. Dents and dings pockmarked his frame – and the irony was that without the quick scrub he'd apparently gotten in, the little warps in his plating would have been less noticeable.

Not that this information did anything more than tell Megatron that this mech was more than likely from the slums. And while he enjoyed this establishment, it was clear that the owner had drawn the same conclusion and took offense to it. Ridiculous, really, but prejudices clung tight. This unfortunate spark was probably only trying to find some kind of stepping stone out. Or perhaps a meal — though he doubted that would provoke such a reaction.

Eventually the anger flared palpably around the stranger in a brilliant ripple of his EM field, and with a few choice words that would have turned even Impactor's helm, he spun around, shoulders hunched, ready to stomp out of the cafe. And there was something... some kind of vulnerability in the mech, despite his anger and the vulgarity of his words. Something about the bright flare of his field. Megatron wasn’t sure why, but he was gripped by a sudden impulse and stood from his seat, mouth open as though to call out to the mech — not that he knew what he could possibly say. But a mech of his stature standing up so quickly got attention, and the mech stopped in his tracks, looking uncertain. His optics flicked first to the front counter, as though assessing if his spat with management and Megatron's sudden movement were connected, then he looked to the door as though contemplating simply making a run for it. If he did, Megatron had no hope of catching him; his alt-mode clearly indicated speed. So while he had the mech's attention, he made a beckoning motion.

The look he received in return illustrated just how odd and unexpected his impulsive action had been. All Megatron could do was hope that would be enough to intrigue him approaching speaking range. He watched as the mech's optics flicked to the front counter again, but it seemed that he felt his chances were better with Megatron with the staff looking as puzzled about the miner's behavior as he was. The stranger flicked his gaze around the room frequently, but he edged towards Megatron.

"What do you want?" he demanded once he was close enough to talk lowly, though well out of Megatron's reach.

Megatron forced down the sympathy that rose at the display of exaggerated defense mechanisms. For the stranger, they probably weren't exaggerated at all — an even more upsetting thought. If Megatron knew anything, it was that sympathy was too often mistaken for pity, and would be rejected outright. "I want to talk," he said.

The stranger scoffed. "You want to talk," he repeated. Megatron simply nodded. "What the frag could you want to talk to me about? If you're with them, then just say so." He gestured vaguely at the front counter. The owner had disappeared again and the staff appeared to be back at work, but from their odd stillness it seemed they were trying very hard to listen to what was being said.

Megatron shook his helm. "I am not," he replied. "I am simply a patron." The mech still looked at him with open distrust. This much closer, Megatron could see even more signs of disrepair: his plating looked worn, as though it couldn't shine up even with a polish, the grime between the plates was that much more obvious, his optics were dim and drawn. "Would you like some fuel?" he offered. This café was known for specialty mixes, but he was certain he could buy a simple cube of mid-grade for the mech.

The mech stared openly at him and Megatron could see very clearly the warring thoughts going through his processors: his innate distrust of his surroundings combating his clear need for fuel. Eventually, his need won over, as Megatron had thought it might, the mech's bunched up shoulders almost slumping as he gave one more reluctant look around the café. "'Course I'd like some fuel," he muttered. The words seemed to pain him.

Megatron smiled at him. "Take a seat, then, and I will bring you some," he replied.

Despite the volley of another scathingly suspicious look, the mech was surprisingly compliant. He trekked to the booth, careful to still tread out of Megatron’s grasp, and glanced cautiously over his shoulder several times as Megatron retreated to the bar.

All of the staring, from the mech and the staff up front, was starting to make him feel self-conscious. He was used to it, on some level — as a miner, he was larger and broader than a lot of the manual class, so a few heads would turn when he simply walked down the street. And in this small, uncrowded café, he sometimes seemed almost too big. But this was different, having his actions bringing the stares and not simply his stature. Megatron was pretty sure everyone in here thought he was out of his mind.

Well, if feeding a mech in need was a symptom, then he certainly was, because that was what Megatron intended to do. He quickly bought a small cube of mid-grade energon. It wasn't too much to take out of his budgeting for such things, so he thought nothing of it as he took it with him to the booth where the other mech sat. A few of his datapads still laid upon the tabletop with his own drink and he felt a stirring of paranoia for a moment — had the stranger tried to investigate what was on the 'pads? But as he took his own seat, Megatron saw that nothing seemed disturbed.

He felt a surge of guilt at the thought, but he would examine that later. Would it matter, anyway, if they had been? According to Impactor, he was wasting his time doing all of this writing. And yet, Megatron couldn't imagine not writing, so he simply continued.

His thoughts were drawn from his datapads and his writing as he settled into the booth again and was focused with a dim, mistrustful gaze, which Megatron met with another brief smile. Megatron pushed the cube across the table to the mech, who gazed at it, as suspicious of it as he was of Megatron. "It's standard mid-grade," he said, as though it might convince him.

The mech just frowned. "And what're you expecting for it, huh?" he grunted. He seemed to almost fling the words across the table. His speech was rough and thick with the dialects of lower Rodion and the Dead End. Familiar sounds, though more pronounced than Megatron usually heard.

Megatron frowned. "I told you, I'd just like to talk."

That was met with a bitter laugh. "Just to talk," he repeated. Mocking. "What the frag about?"

Megatron shrugged his broad shoulders. "You could start by telling me your name," he tried.

Those gold optics narrowed. "Why?"

That response took him a little off guard. "Why... It would help conversation, for one," Megatron said. "I am Megatron, of Tarn."

There was a long pause after that, the smaller mech still glaring balefully at him. Then, finally, and barely audible: "Drift."

"Drift," Megatron repeated. The lack of origin-markers wasn’t significant. Either the mech was still mistrustful or he didn’t care to attach Rodion to his name. Either way, it _was_ a nice name. Utilitarian. He gestured at the cube sitting in front of Drift, still untouched. "You should drink your energon, Drift."

Drift squinted his optics, but he did finally reach up for the cube, looking both eager and reluctant. What a constant and complicated emotional battle this mech seemed to go through at every turn! Surely it was exhausting. But Megatron couldn't judge; things were rough down in the mines, but Drift seemed to have come straight from the streets. The way he greedily gulped at least half the cube in one go told Megatron a lot of what he needed to know and he knew better than to remark upon it.

They sat another moment in quiet, Megatron picking up his stylus again, but fiddling with it — self-conscious, suddenly. Not only of the writings on his datapad, but, well. He'd said he wanted to talk to Drift, but he found himself sorely lacking in topics.

Why had he done this, anyway? Sure, the defeat in the mech's posture, despite the clear anger to his core — it had tugged at Megatron's spark. But so what? It wasn't the first time that seeing a victim of their society’s sick cycle had broken his spark and fanned a fire of rage to his own core.

He wrote to try and figure these things out, to attempt to untangle the burning thoughts and feelings and give them some kind of form. That helped, but right now, writing would be... rude. And yet speaking these things aloud was infinitely more difficult… not to mention potentially dangerous, if overheard by the wrong mechs.

Drift snorted, bringing Megatron out of his thoughts and his gaze back to the smaller mech's face. "For someone who wanted to talk so damn bad you bribed, you sure ain't chatty."

Megatron pursed his lips. "It — that wasn't a bribe," he protested. Not that he didn't see why Drift viewed it that way...

"Oh really," Drift said, arching an optic ridge. "Then what was it?"

"You — " Megatron sighed. "You were in need, yes?"

Gold optics, revitalized by the few sips of energon, flashed as Drift frowned. "I don't want your charity, either."

This was far more difficult than Megatron had imagined. He took a deep intake. "I am not seeking to patronize you, Drift."

Drift narrowed his optics. "What's your angle, then?" he snipped.

Megatron gazed at him for a moment and then shook his helm. "I think you should finish your energon," he said.

Drift blinked and looked down, as though surprised that there was still half the cube left. It was probably automatic, Megatron realized, to gulp the first sips in his hunger, and conserve the rest, despite how little it must have satisfied his tanks. More thoughts to rend his spark. "Uh..."

"You can't be full," Megatron insisted.

Drift frowned. "I'll always be hungry," he muttered.

That wasn't any comfort. Megatron sighed. "You can finish it," he repeated. "If you want something to save, I'll get another."

Now Drift was really staring at him, face pinched in thought — trying to puzzle him out. Or figure out his "angle", Megatron thought, barely resisting the urge to roll his optics. "The generous miner," Drift finally spat out.

Megatron shrugged his broad shoulders. "Is that a problem?"

Drift sat back and swirled the remaining energon in his cube. “No,” he finally said. “Unexpected.”

Megatron only frowned further. At this rate, he’ d strain his jaw. “ Is it really _that_ unexpected for you to be so mistrustful?”

Drift gave him a flat look, the dullness coming back over his optics. “Only one bot I’ve ever met has been truly kind to me,” he remarked. “And I’ve dealt with your kind enough to know what to expect.”

“My kind?” Megatron repeated. He swallowed any indignity and decided to try more. “Drift, there’s a fight to be had against what keeps you where you are, but we aren’t enemies in it — ”

Drift snorted, setting the cube down on the tabletop again with enough force that few drops sloshed on his fingers. “Don’t give me any fight-the-good-fight scrap, ” he sneered. “Not when the fight is only for you and those on your level. ”

Megatron sighed. “And why would I say we’re allies if I didn’t intend your advancement with mine?”

Dirft narrowed his optics. “How else do you intend to get cannon fodder for the enforcers? Oh yeah — convince everyone they’ll get the same slice of the oil cake as you. Bait and switch.”

Megatron sat back, shaking his helm. “Cannon fodder? For what?”

“Every so often, someone wants to feed the lower rung to the grinder in their fight for ‘equality’,” he muttered.

“Drift, no one is being sent to die. I didn’t mean any violence in what I said… so what is ‘my kind’ that you think so lowly of my supposed intentions?”

Drift looked him over. “A miner,” he said. “You and the rest of the labor classes _love_ to use up mechs like me one way or another, so don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

Now Megatron was just puzzled. “Mechs like you…?” But then the pieces fell together and he muted his vocalizer as he realized what it was Drift must do for a living.

Drift snorted again, leaning back in the booth and drawing his legs into the seat with him. “What, contemplating a different sales pitch now?” His cube was still neglected on the tabletop, but he lapped up the few drops that had sloshed on his fingertips, his gaze towards Megatron both hostile and taunting. Megatron tried hard to ignore that and the flash of a sharp denta.

“No,” Megatron said, making great effort not to appear flustered. “I don’t, uh. That isn’t my style.”

At this, Drift burst into laughter, loud and brash and catching the attention of the staff again briefly. “Not your style,” he repeated. “That’s either hilarious or insulting. What are you, too good for the company of a buymech?”

“Did I not invite you over here?”

“That’s not the kind of company I mean and you know it,” Drift shot back.

Megatron fell quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean that, either,” he said finally. “But I’m not comfortable participating, personally. That’s all.”

Drift scoffed. “That’s rich,” he retorted. “Just like you ‘don’t mean anything violent’ after you talk about fighting. Maybe you’re really the crazy one here and those aftplates,” he jerked a finger towards the counter, “were yellin’ at the wrong mech.”

Another sigh, but this one seemed to come from Megatron’s very spark. It wasn’t the first time his sanity had been called into question over his ideas, though normally it was just Impactor. “I am not,” he said. “And I meant what I said. There is a fight to be had, for equality, but it does not need to be violent.”

Drift gestured wildly before leaning in over the table again. “What the frag is that supposed to mean?” he snapped. His optics trailed to the mechs behind the counter again before he lowered his voice and continued, “How are you supposed to fight for anything without violence?”

Megatron snapped his stylus up again, despite how sharply Drift watched even the small arc of its point. “Ideas are far more powerful than fists, Drift.”

Drift barked out another laugh. “Ideas?” he repeated. “Is that what you’re carting around there?” He gestured at the datapads, which had been pushed aside close to the wall.

“Yes,” Megatron said, trying not to get too defensive. A difficult task, considering he was routinely mocked for spending most of his free time with his nose to a datapad, reading _or_ writing. Then he too lowered his voice. “I write down my thoughts. I want to organize them, share them — I can’t be the only one thinking them, so if we all joined together — ”

Drift shook his helm, sitting back again. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Words can’t fight. I remember the sting of fists much longer.”

Megatron reached for one of the datapads before sliding it to Drift. “You could at least see what they say before deciding they won’t resonate with you,” he replied.

Somehow, that made Drift quiet down, in both word and demeanor. After a moment, he shoved the datapad back towards Megatron, his upper lip curled in a clear attempt to regain his earlier veneer. “That will do me no good,” he snorted.

Megatron gently scooted the datapad towards Drift again, his hand resting on it as he asked, “Why not?”

Drift clenched his jaw, his optics flashing as he pulled his hands back and crossed his arms defensively over his chestplate. “What does it matter?” he growled. “Why do you even care?”

Megatron tilted his helm. “Why don’t you see?” he said, lifting his hand and clearly offering the datapad again. Scowling, Drift looked away as he grumbled something further. “Sorry?” Megatron prompted.

“I can’t read.”

Megatron blinked, and then he felt immensely foolish. Of course. He stifled all immediate thoughts, set them aside to mull over later. He’d have a _lot_ to think about later. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Drift snorted. “Whatever, it’s not important.”

Once again, Megatron was frowning. “Of course it is,” he insisted.

Drift gave him that look again, and Megatron had the thought that he was growing tired of being looked at like he was stupid. "How is it important?" he demanded. "Just because you wanna pretend to be a scholar..."

Megatron pursed his lips. "I do not pretend to be anything," he said sharply.

Drift laughed again — it wasn't a nice laugh. Megatron wondered what genuine mirth would sound like from him. "Really?" he said. "Look at you. Here." He looked around the café. "With your datapads and your ideas, and everyone still staring at the paint stripes marking who you are." Here, Drift pointed at the trimming on Megatron's frame.

Megatron clenched his fists. "Mining is my job. It's what I do. Not who I am." His voice was even but firm, the rumble of a challenge low in his vocalizer. If he didn't know any better, that got Drift more into it.

"Really," he said, leaning forward with his chin in a hand. "And yet you were constructed for it. Aren't you — what is it — fulfilling your function?"

The larger mech clenched his jaw. "We are more than our functions, Drift," he said. Patience was hard, but he was determined to get through! "What is your function, then," he said. "Were you built to seek out jobs in cafés? Or to sell interfaces? Are you dedicated to whatever they wrote in your programming?"

Drift growled. "That's different," he grumbled. "Nobody wants me. You they can ship anywhere for mining, or other labor."

Megatron leaned in more. "Then were you not attempting just now to better your life some?" Drift glared at him stonily. "Then why should I not do the same, with my 'datapads and ideas' as you put it? And why should I not attempt to better the situation of someone in front of me, clearly in need? If it is within my power, I will help, Drift."

The speedster scowled. "And what the frag can you do for me?" he demanded. "Buying me energon here will only last the day."

Megatron frowned. What could he do? But he didn't want to appear hesitant or lost, so he said the first thing that came to mind: "I'll teach you to read."

There was an almost stunned silence from them both. And then Drift let out that mocking laugh again. "To read," he repeated. "And what will _that_ do for me?"

The larger mech pursed his lips again. "It'll better your chances of getting a job somewhere like this, for one."

Drift huffed softly, but he seemed to realize that Megatron certainly had a point there.

"So," Megatron said. "What do you say? Meet me here, this time next week. I'll buy you energon and teach you to read."

The offer hung in the air for a minute that stretched into eternity. Megatron was certain that Drift would refuse; the mech had that pinched, sour look on his face. But then... "Fine," he said. "Not like it can fraggin' hurt me..."

Megatron grinned broadly — and it wasn't until that moment that he realized just how much he'd hoped Drift would agree. Why? He couldn't be sure — but it felt good, to help someone. It was that 'more' he felt he should strive for, a difference he could make, however small.

Drift shifting around and shaking his helm brought his attention outward again. "So's... that it?" he mumbled.

Megatron shrugged. "Sure," he said. "But you're welcome to stay and finish your energon."

Drift blinked, and for an instant looked like he might bolt. But then he muttered something under his breath and sat back in the booth, sipping at his energon. Megatron only smiled and pulled his datapads and stylus back in front of him.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here is some more of this. I think working on it has been the only thing keeping me sane during truly mindmelting work deadlines.
> 
> Thanks to Siv for sponsoring a chunk of this chapter via commission <3

“So you’re going to go?”

 

Drift glanced over at Gasket. He hadn’t looked at Drift when he spoke, instead gazing up at the sky. At the stars — or the few they could see. Even lying on the roof of this abandoned warehouse, the high reaches of upper Rodion soared above and cut into much of their view, and the sliver of sky they  _ could _ see was nearly featureless from light pollution. But the faint twinkle of one or two showed up, and he and Gasket often came here to look. Stargazing, Gasket called it. More like star _ hunting _ , in Drift’s opinion.

 

“You think I shouldn’t,” Drift said. It wasn’t a question. Three days since meeting Megatron, he’d found Gasket again and discussed that afternoon.  Given that Gasket was the only person he called friend, Drift valued his opinion, even if they often differed.

 

Gasket sighed and turned to face him. “That isn’t what I said,” he replied.

 

Drift arched an optic ridge. “But?”

 

“Well, you know. Things that seem too good to be real…”

 

“— usually are, yeah. I know.”

 

Gasket frowned back up at the sky. “And knowing that you can’t read, well… it didn’t really matter what he was trying to show you on the datapad, did it?”

 

Drift thought back, letting his optics shutter. “He didn’t know I couldn’t read until after tryin’ to shove the datapads at me.” 

 

Gasket sat up and shrugged. “Maybe.”

 

Drift opened his optics again. “Maybe?” Now he sat up as well, peering over at Gasket.

 

Gasket pursed his lips. “Well,” he said. “He could have made a few assumptions. It’s not like you’re the only illiterate bot from the Dead End. He’d have good odds if he were wagering on it.”

 

“So you think it could be a set up.”

 

“I think I want you to be careful.”

 

Drift snorted. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Drift…”

 

“What? Usually  _ I’m _ the less trusting one.”

 

Gasket shook his helm. “That’s true… I’ve been wondering what made you agree.”

 

“I don’t know,” Drift said. He was quiet for a moment, thinking about that afternoon. About the brightness of Megatron’s optics as he spoke, the soft way his field had flickered in the booth they’d shared. After resuming whatever work he’d been doing on one of the datapads, Megatron had let them sit in quiet while Drift finished his energon. Something about it had been oddly comforting. “He believed in what he was saying. And if it’s for real and I learn, I could show you too. We could finally get out of here.”

 

Gasket smiled wistfully. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

 

Silence for a moment, before Drift spoke up again. “So… healthy mistrust is your advice.” As if Drift didn’t already have  _ that _ in spades.

 

Gasket shrugged again. “Yeah, well… you know.”

 

Drift arched an optic ridge. “Do I?”

 

“Voltage. He only cares about shanix, not whether you can read or write.”

 

A sudden scowl marred Drift’s expression. “You let  _ me _ worry on what Voltage cares about.”

 

Gasket sighed. “How can I  _ not _ , Drift — ”

 

The speedster crossed his arms, a dangerous glint in his golden optics. “You know how this argument plays out, Gasket.”

 

From Gasket, a sullen attitude was rare, but here he was pouting. “It’s still my fault.”

 

“Don’t see how my choices are your fault.”

 

Another pause, this one tense for several moments before they bore it out and eventually relaxed back again. They both resumed peered up at the sky. More stars than usual twinkled down at them, through the bright lights and the city layers. Drift wasn’t exactly superstitious, but part of him wanted it to be a good omen. The sight made him feel hopeful for once.

 

They stayed that way for a while, until Gasket stood and said he needed to go. Drift nodded and promised to catch up to him soon.

 

Still, he stayed on the roof and watched the lights of the city if not the stars. Now he had a decision to make where he’d thought there was none. Gasket’s caution wasn’t without reason. Should he go?

 

He thought about it long enough to doze off.

 

— 

 

Drift sat on the rusted bench of a communal washracks, sighing as he watched the water rinse solvent down his plating. Despite the fact that he was here again so soon, the wash still felt unsatisfactory. He didn’t have the shanix to buy the time for a real deep clean, and even if he did someone bigger and stupider would come along to force out anyone they thought was taking too long. 

 

Then he would  _ really _ be strapped for earnings today. A quick courier job could sometimes be worth it for the potential tip from the delivery’s recipient, but today’s had been cheap and rude. Not worth what was left after a short shower.  _ Definitely _ not if he got kicked out of the shower by some grunt.

 

He frowned as he dried his frame with a towel. Honestly he  _ could _ charge express, with the speeds his alt-mode was capable of, but in general there were easier ways to earn a few shanix that didn’t flag the attention of enforcers the way cars racing around the Dead End and lower Rodion did. That would do him no favors either way you slice it. Like Gasket said, Voltage wouldn’t care about his circumstances, only where his payment was.

 

All of this on his mind to avoid what he had still not made a decision on: Megatron.

 

And it was the day they had arranged to meet! Talking with Gasket had made him doubt his initial convictions, but… Something about it. Life in the Dead End had taught Drift not to  _ really _ believe in a stranger’s professed altruism, and yet — 

 

Drift sighed and tossed the towel into the laundry bin. He thought about the few shanix left over on the credit chip in his arm.  _ Too _ few.

 

If he went, it was still a free cube of energon, right?

 

—

 

Truthfully, Megatron would have made it here around this time whether he meant to meet someone or not. And he knew, deep down, he shouldn't get his hopes up about Drift showing; he was a jumpy, wary, suspicious creature, and given what he could imagine life in the slums to be he couldn't exactly blame Drift. 

But despite his well-founded uncertainty, Megatron  _ did _ secretly hope. He didn't watch the door (much) or try to peer through the frosted glass window, but when he picked up his regular order from the barista, he also purchased a cube of midgrade and left it sitting at his elbow. And then he busied himself with his own writing to keep from fretting. It didn't completely work but it kept his hands busy, which was a lot. He attracted enough stares without fidgeting, too! 

The soft chime of the door caught his attention every time. Just a few others, in and out quickly with their orders. After an hour, Megatron thought he should reassess how hopeful he was about this venture. Every time the chime sounded in the background of the shop noise, he willed himself not to glance eagerly at the door... but he did, each time. And each time it wasn't a small, white frame he saw slinking into the shop he felt more disappointed than he wanted to admit.  

Now he practically doodled on the datapad in front of him, idly wondering if he'd been foolish to expect Drift to keep that agreement in the first place. Maybe he should've gone to Maccadam’s with Impactor after all... Rodion was easy work as far as mining went, which made most of his fellows eager to spend off-time at their favorite bars and other haunts. Megatron preferred this place, but sometimes it was lonely.

As this thought occurred to him, Megatron lifted his helm to frown at the sitting area of the café — only to spook when he became aware of a small frame just in his peripheral vision. "Drift!" he said, the single syllable carrying both shock and relief. The little mech just gave him a strange look, like he'd never seen someone Megatron's size jump that way. 

Drift worked his jaw, glaring, appearing not to know what to say. Megatron took less time to get his wits about him, and he gestured to the cube. "I went ahead and got you some energon," he offered. 

Drift pursed his lips, glowering at the cube and back at Megatron, until he finally scooted into the opposite side of the bench. Megatron nudged the cube over and Drift quickly clutched it close. He was still silent. Megatron offered him a little smile, as if it would temper Drift's scowl any. (It did not.) His pale gaze wandered over the table, though its contents weren't much different than when Drift had last sat across from him: a few datapads, a stylus, Megatron's drink of choice, and Megatron sitting opposite him. "...How long were you waiting?" he finally muttered. 

Megatron just shrugged his broad shoulders... but when he saw Drift's gaze on some of his aimless scribbles, he quickly shut that datapad off. "An hour or two," he estimated.  

The white mech grunted. "...My chronometer don't work the best."  

Megatron shook his helm. "No trouble," he said, wisely silent on how this remark was a backhanded apology for keeping Megatron waiting. He was too happy about the implication in that — that Drift had wanted to arrive on time for this. 

Whatever it was going to be. 

He decided to let Drift drink his energon first while he pondered on what to do. He’d thought about it enough in the last week! But he’d never taught anyone except himself how to read — he didn’t even train newsparks down in the mines. In this moment, though, it was just as important to Megatron to see Drift drinking down his energon as it was to figure out how best to teach him. This entire endeavor _ was  _ about helping Drift.  

But Drift’s gaze didn’t waver once from Megatron, which he found a little unnerving. The mech watched him closely while he appeared to force himself to drink the fuel slowly. Had he known Drift better, he might have had a guess at what the other mech was thinking. But as of now he was clueless.

If Megatron peered at Drift just as closely, he’d see that Drift had gone through the same quick scrub-down as before the failed attempt to obtain a job here. It looked just as ineffective as it had then — cleanser didn’t freshen the polish, after all. Megatron felt just as much grimness as before. He wished he could do so much more than buy Drift a cube of energon and teach him to read… but he reminded himself of the argument he’d given Drift when convincing him to meet him again in the first place: to give Drift something he could always use, something to better his position — something that couldn’t be taken away from him. 

Drift sighed, once again stopping at half the cube and letting it sit on the table again. “So are you just gonna stare at me?” he asked. 

Megatron quirked an optic ridge, resisting the urge to point out that Drift had started it. “It would be easier to show you if you sit over here,” he said instead. 

Drift squinted at him, not at all shy about showing his distrust. Megatron patiently waited on his response — which, it turned out, was a soft huff and the small mech shuffling out of the booth again. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But you keep your hands on the table.” 

Megatron scooted closer to the wall, giving Drift as much room as he could. “I told you last time, I’m not after that sort of thing.” 

Drift cut his optics up at Megatron as he settled into the booth again. “Yeah, why don’t I believe that?” he spat out. 

Megatron sighed, but for now he couldn’t argue — Drift clearly had experience telling him not to trust labor-class mechs who showed an interest in him. He’d just have to show Drift that he meant no ill will.  

With Drift still again, Megatron picked up the other datapad on the table, which he’d filled with some simple stories and a vocabulary program which utilized a flash-card method for study. It was the large glyphs he was interested on that — quicker to learn them when the differences were easier to see. 

He handed Drift the stylus, shuffling the datapad he’d scribbled on towards Drift — after opening a blank page, of course. Drift held the stylus awkwardly, staring at the blank datapad and back up at Megatron. The larger mech had queued up a set in that vocabulary program. “I figured the alphabet is a good enough place to start,” he said.  

Drift just shrugged, as if to say  _ like I know _ .  

Nodding, Megatron held up the datapad in his hand, using it to walk Drift through all of the glyphs in Neocybex.  

—

All told, they spent another couple of hours in the booth, Megatron giving Drift a few glyphs to practice writing and helping to show him the easiest strokes to take when writing some of them. Just a few at a time, until Drift’s attempts smoothed out from the initial wobbliness borne of an overall lack of confidence. 

Despite Drift’s practiced apathy and his ever present hostility, he proved to be quite attentive to Megatron’s lesson. He’d even asked Megatron to write their names, just so he could see and trace his fingertips over the glyphs.

But Megatron couldn’t stay too long away from the barracks, and he didn’t want to overwhelm Drift with information, either. Besides, the smaller mech was starting to get fidgety.  Either he had reached his limit of trust in Megatron, or it had something to do with the track marks too easy to spot on his frame in such proximity. 

 

Megatron put such thoughts out of his mind for now.  Once again, he offered Drift a brief smile before saving progress and shutting off both datapads. “I hope next time I’ll have found a separate datapad for you to keep so you can practice more,” he said, fidgeting with both of the ‘pads in his hands. “If not, I can probably transfer all of my things to one and clear off the other.” 

 

Drift was oddly quiet, though he nodded in acknowledgement.  

Megatron hummed softly as he packed away his belongings. “So… what do you think?” he finally said. “Want to keep learning?” 

The white mech seemed to be staring through the opposite wall, but after a moment he did look back up at Megatron. He nodded. 

Megatron smiled again, this one feeling as though it bloomed from his spark.  “I’ll see you again next week, then.” 

 

—

The recharge slabs down in the barracks couldn’t exactly be called comfortable, but they were far preferable to nights spent deep in the mines. Their division was working above ground for now, so they got to enjoy the relative comfort of these quarters. Still, it was an off afternoon, and it was warm and comfortable enough that Megatron had drifted into a light doze.  

That was, until heavy footsteps thudded into the room. Impactor. Megatron was perfectly content to ignore his suite-mate in favor of the seduction of that nap. 

Impactor had other plans. Megatron felt a cube bounce off his abdominal plating — Impactor’s idea of waking him up, recently. The grey mech heaved a sigh and opened his optics, glaring at the ceiling over the datapad that had been resting against the lower half of his face. He snatched up the cube and lobbed it back Impactor’s way. “Must you throw things at me?” he grumbled, somehow displeased that Impactor had caught the thing. 

Impactor chuckled. “It’s almost a sport now,” he said, popping the cube open and taking a swig. “I mean if you’re gonna be a cybercat on our off days, just napping and reading your damn datapads, I can throw things at you.” 

Megatron frowned. “What kind of reasoning is that?” 

His friend just grinned as he hopped onto his own berth. “You ever gonna come by Maccadam’s again?” he asked instead, knocking back the rest of the cube and dispersing it. “Might as well take advantage of it while we’re workin’ above ground, y’know.” 

Megatron pursed his lips. He had been taking advantage of easy access to the city, too, he just hadn’t told Impactor about any of that. Because he could imagine his friend’s opinion of Megatron giving reading lessons to a homeless mech — vulgar, and as dismissive as he was towards all of Megatron’s reading and writing. “I’ve been busy,” he said, staring down at the datapad in his hand. Clearing off one of his datapads had taken longer than expected — it wasn’t ready for their second meeting as intended — but he had finally finished. Now he could set it up for Drift’s use. Or that had been his intent before he’d fallen asleep.

 

A derisive snort broke his thoughts. “With what?” Impactor said. 

Megatron tucked the datapad safely in his subspace. “I have my projects,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie, though it felt odd when he knew he was referring to Drift. Helping him was to  _ help _ him, not something he was working for to his own gain. Plus, they had only met twice for “lessons”, but Megatron felt as though Drift were relaxing around him. Not a lot, but for Drift — it was huge.

Impactor rolled his optics. “So, are you going to have a drink with me, or not?” he said. “I wouldn’t wanna hold you back.” 

Megatron pursed his lips again. All the same… he hadn’t spent a lot of time with Impactor lately. Guilt twinged at his spark. He should spare some time for his friend, right? Megatron shrugged and stood up from the berth, stretching. “Alright then, let’s go.” 

Impactor grinned and hopped up from his seat again. 

 

—

 

They caught Maccadam’s at a roaring hour of business, although in fairness Megatron wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it otherwise. He’d brought the datapad he’d been working on out of habit, but for now he was frowning over it and how suddenly difficult it was for him to concentrate. Living amongst generally noisy quarters, with many of his outings here, Megatron was used to tuning out the cacophony of large, brash, often drunk companions. Normally it didn’t bother him, but despite agreeing to come out… Megatron found himself craving a quiet atmosphere and a more attentive companion. The thought felt a little unfair, considering he  _ looked _ like the inattentive one while he poked at this datapad, but… Impactor had a way of talking  _ at  _ him which put him off. And, for now, Impactor was occupied with the arrival of a few more from the barracks who had stopped by their booth to chat with them. Or rather, Impactor. He was a popular topic amongst their division, but not for engaging with.

 

The noise level didn’t seem to change, so Megatron hardly noticed that he and Impactor had been left alone again. At least, until Impactor tapped the top of the datapad and shattered what little focus he’d gathered. 

 

“Maybe if you drank something stronger than coolant, you’d relax enough to focus on… whatever you’re doing,” Impactor suggested. 

 

Megatron pursed his lips. “I don’t think engex will do anything for my concentration.” 

 

Impactor rolled his optics. “Maybe you should do something else for once. It might inspire your verse, or whatever.” He wiggled his fingertips, as if that communicated all of the “whatevers”.

 

“I’m not — ” Megatron stopped, realizing it was probably to his benefit that Impactor thought he was just doing his normal activities. 

 

“You’re not what?”

 

“Nothing.” Megatron waved a hand dismissively. 

 

“Come on.” Impactor seemed to produce a pint of engex out of nowhere. Probably bought for him by the miners who’d just left their booth — they’d reached the bar by this time, surely. “You said you’d have a drink with me. Just one, and maybe chat with me a sec before getting absorbed in your datapads again.”

 

Megatron eventually relaxed his jaw a little. He was having trouble concentrating anyway, so why not? “You win again,” he replied, pulling the glass across the table to himself.

 

Impactor grinned. “So if you aren’t writing poetry, what  _ are _ you doing?”

 

“Who said I’m not writing poetry?”

 

Here, Impactor lifted his optic ridges incredulously. “You, just now.” 

 

Megatron made a scoffing noise, trying to play off the fact that he didn’t have a ready answer. The effectiveness was doubtful. “It doesn’t matter.” 

 

Impactor hummed, drinking from his tankard again. “Really? Usually you shove it all my way.” 

 

Megatron fidgeted, tracing the condensation along the glass containing his engex. “I thought you didn’t care for it,” he finally said. Impactor had made that more than clear enough for anyone to wonder why Megatron would still insist on showing him his writing. (It was simple enough: Megatron had no one else to share it with.)

 

“Yeah well, you never listened before either.” Impactor shrugged. Megatron took a gulp of engex, because he had nothing to say to that. “Does this have to do with whatever hot date you’ve been going to every week?”

 

Megatron took a sharp intake, just barely managing to swallow the engex instead of coughing it out in an embarrassing mess. “My  _ what _ ?” 

 

The other mech was clearly amused. Slagger. Impactor probably intended that to happen. “Most of the time it’s up to me to make sure you see sunlight, but you’ve been out quite a bit the last few weeks.”

 

After all of that, it was difficult to act casual, but Megatron took a stab at it. “I guess I hadn’t noticed. I have places in the city I like to visit, too,” he replied.

 

Impactor hummed. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe I  _ was _ just missing you waving datapads under my nose,” he remarked. 

 

Megatron let out a chuckle. “I mean, if you insist…”

 

Impactor held up his hands. “Oh no you don’t. I won’t fall for this reverse psychology stuff.” 

 

With this, their evening more or less returned to normal. Megatron sipped off and on at the pint of engex, and Impactor got steadily drunker and more boisterous. Observing his friend, Megatron  _ was _ happy to see the mech let loose and relax. Maybe, he thought, in Drift he could have someone to discuss the ideas which Impactor always shut down. Impactor was content as he was and didn’t care for Megatron challenging it. He felt a little guilty for it, but the rest of the night he found himself daydreaming about his next meeting with Drift. 

 

Two more days.

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks goes to: goodnyte & zoe for helping spark the ideas in the first place and for being cheerleaders and support. Ky, for being you, for kicking out my brain gremlins violently when needed. Siv for encouraging me and being my hype bro. Squids (both of you) for helping me believe in myself! Lex for literally always having something nice to say & guiding me towards self-confidence. And so many more that I could sit here and type them out all night, but I'm sure I've embarrassed myself enough with the mushy stuff, haha. So for all my friends, those present and not, this is for you. Thank you for not letting me give up over the past four years. <3
> 
> ✿ [twitter.com/stardustbytes](https://twitter.com/stardustbytes) ☆ [stardustland](https://cosmicstardustland.wordpress.com/about/) ✿


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